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Old 01-11-2009, 05:33 PM   #90
Legate of Amon Lanc
A Voice That Gainsayeth
 
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Join Date: Nov 2006
Location: In that far land beyond the Sea
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Legate of Amon Lanc is spying on the Black Gate.Legate of Amon Lanc is spying on the Black Gate.Legate of Amon Lanc is spying on the Black Gate.Legate of Amon Lanc is spying on the Black Gate.Legate of Amon Lanc is spying on the Black Gate.Legate of Amon Lanc is spying on the Black Gate.
Óin

The sun had already disappeared from Óin's sight. Darkness was creeping from the caves underneath the mountains, veiling the dale in soft shadows. The old Dwarf was lying, silently, on the edge of a rocky bed, wrapped in his brown cloak, hiding his long white hair under the large hood. His shiny blue eyes observed closely the scenery below him, as he lay in the cover of the few crooked fir-trees. The waterfall by his side was splashing and the bubbling water ran over the stones, covering all sounds and sometimes giving Óin a sparkling splash of icy cold water.

Long time the valley was empty and motionless, save for the waters of Silverlode running their paths through the scattered stones of the valley. Óin lay low, resting, but attentive. He wanted to learn as much as he could about the approaching enemy; that youngster shall certainly deliver the news to Balin. And Balin will know what to do. Meanwhile, it was upon Óin to stay here, and think on how to spot as much of the enemy as possible, and be able to get away at the same time. He was lying low, close to the ground, and gripping the bow in his hand.

Now, at last. On the edge of the long and wide valley filled with stones, a walking shadow appeared, and then other, and then another. All three of them were walking fast, treading the water-washed plain.

"And here you have them," the old scout whispered to himself silently. "Here you have them, Óin, spoiling the clearest waters of Kibil-nâla with their filthy feet. I swear, if it was just those three, I would have wasted no arrow to repay them for their impudence. Alas, there are not just three of them, I know. Ha, look, there they come."

Óin narrowed his eyes in hope to discern more of the figures who were now appearing in his sight. There were Orcs armed with spears, yes, and several carrying heavy shields. Despite their burden, these tall Orcs were marching fast, protecting the front of the army, which was slowly nearing the gates of Moria. After them, other Orcs were appearing, carrying curved scimitars, and others with short bows, and still there were more coming.

Óin tried to count. The Orcs formed a diverse mass; small mountain-goblins as well as the bigger ones from far North; and he was able to discern some leaders among them, carrying whips, and driving the rest to higher speed. The large Orcs did not need such an incitement, but some of the smaller goblins seemed not so keen on marching in the pace enforced by their leaders. Still, the speed of the army was high, Óin was certain that it will not take long for the enemy to reach Moria. He only hoped that Balin had already started with the preparations for defending the gates.

"Old Balin is no fool," he muttered to himself. "He will not let a mouse sneak into the halls of Khazâd-dûm as long as he is the Lord of Moria. Let us only hope the youngster ran as far as he could to deliver him the news." Óin clutched his bow more strongly, as he noticed a new group of goblins appearing in the gorge, all in heavy armor, but nevertheless keeping up with the speed of the rest; some of them held large maces.

"You will do better to move soon, Óin," the old Dwarf continued in his monologue. "But not yet, not yet. Hey! What is that there? More Uruks?" Once again, he narrowed his eyes, but in the falling dusk he could discern still less and less on the long distance.

"Looks like them," he muttered. "So not just these mountain worms, but whole bands of them big Orcs... ten, twenty... fifty in this group? And now there are others descending the slopes from the northern side of the valley... so not all of them are taking the path right by the river... right, right, Óin, what a fool are you; you may call yourself lucky that seemingly none of them yet got past you by the small paths, otherwise you will be surrounded... of course, of course... you should have known they would know the ways... they can climb the slopes of Bundushathûr where they are not steep enough yet... and there are more coming now, spreading around the sidepaths!"

Alarmed, the old Dwarf rose, though not yet to his full height; he was trying to keep hidden behind the nearest fir's trunk.

"Óin, my lad," he hissed, as his trembling hands clasped the short bow. "You will do better to move, now, or else..."

Slowly, not to raise any attention, he moved backwards, taking care of not to slip on the wet green stones. "Careful, careful, Óin," he whispered almost voicelessly, even though nobody could hear him through the splashing of the waterfall. "If you slip up now, you will cause a lot of trouble to yourself, and nobody is going to pick you up, no no, not this time... or certainly nobody you would like..."

Óin moved close to one side of the dale, his back to the cold green stone. Realising he is covered perfectly by the group of fir-trees, he turned around and paced at high speed further to the west, until he reached a place where the wall beside him was not so steep and unreachable. There he stopped for a moment, looked back and to the front and then up to the slope by his right side.

"Maybe it is unwise," he said. "but I want to see them properly at least one more time." And he began to climb up.
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